Tale of HER
by Ydream08
Summary: I'd grown up from my desire to be a trainer. I had other plans, like my parents wished. Then dad accepted a job in Hoenn. Now I'm foolishly traveling to obtain dud badges to prove my worth on dad's orders. The blood in my hands keeps me awake on freezing nights in the wilderness, the cries of those dead pokemon haunting my dreams. Pokemon Emerald Nuzlocke.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon**

* * *

 **Tale of Her**

 _By Ydream08_

* * *

 **Summary:** I'd grown up from my desire to be a trainer. I had other plans, like my parents wished. Then dad accepted a job in Hoenn. Now I'm foolishly traveling to obtain dud badges to prove my worth on dad's orders. The blood in my hands keeps me awake on freezing nights in the wilderness, the cries of those pokemon haunting my dreams. No one fucking cares whether I'm scared. They'll never see what hit them.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

Waking up in excruciating pain has become depressingly familiar. An ache pulses through every inch of my body, never localizing as there is no place that hurts less than anywhere else. Exhaling, I recall a memory from three years ago. It was a family trip on a boat. I followed my dad after he jumped from the second floor of the boat into the sea, but my feet slipped, and instead of diving into the sea gracefully, my body slammed horizontally to the tense waters. The burning was similar to that of now, however back then the cool sea water had hid the flames licking my skin. Now, it feels like someone has set me on fire from my hands and let the flames engulf me without mercy. Shutting my eyes tightly closed, I try to change my panting into deep breaths. I fail miserably as they come out more like whimpers. It is sad, truly, to not be able to scream even when fear grips my heart enough that I wish I'd never woken up. Not to mention, even though I'm too numb to wipe my tears, I can't stop crying.

"Please," I whisper, even before opening my eyes. The voice that reaches my ears is hoarse and cracked, as if that is enough to convey my pain. _The hell it is!_

Every time I breathe, my broken ribs fail to stretch as much as my lungs, sinking painfully to the soft muscle and stealing away what little air is stubbornly binding me to this unjust world. My neck occasionally jerks my head backwards away from the cold and wet, yet, even my confusion to why there is nothing but dry air here doesn't cease the quirk. I feel sore in every inch of my body, and just like the faint sensation of burning in my hands, a persistent tingling teases my gut to remind me that I'm very much alive.

I try to concentrate, desperate to suppress the headache that feels no different than someone hammering my skull inside and out. Thinking has gained me nothing so far. In this disorienting state, hours easily morph into either minutes or years. I have no way of determining time in this place.' _This place'?_ My train of thought comes to an abrupt stop, and I jerk as though startled out of a hazy dream. _Where am I? What happened?_

I try to disregard the headache and search for any modicum of an answer I can fetch from my mind, but come up empty handed. I recollect _feeling_ everything–panic, fright, desperation, hopelessness and mostly pain–but the rest is blank.

"DAD!" I yell as panic swells in my chest, causing me to hyperventilate. I attempt to rise to my feet, move at the least, but feel the rigorous protests from every muscle as they clench in pain. My hands don't move, I feel something rough and tight–a rope, I figure–tying them together behind me. I want to thrash around, to fight my way to the answers but my body disobeys me. I can't lift a finger.

"Mom," I whimper, tears once again dampening my cheeks. I realize then that my open eyes only see darkness. Unlike before, this place is pitch black with no windows to allow light in.

' _Unlike before'?_ Panic washes away any tiredness I feel. _Dammit, why can't I remember!_ _ **What**_ _can't I remember?_ Memories mock my exhausted mind, not diminishing my frustration.

Helplessly, I press my forehead to the solid surface beneath me, in an attempt for cold to relieve me off those heightened emotions. I take deep breaths to calm myself, the wheezing from my strained exhalations giving me something to concentrate on. The rhythmic sound chases away my panic, but just as it does the surface beneath me shakes and my body hops, causing my chin to hit the ground with a sharp snap. I groan in pain, but when my ears experience the loss of _something_ , the pain is forgotten to be replaced by uneasiness. That sound reminds me of roaming of a machine, a vehicle. _What? Am I at the back of a Arceus-damned truck or something?!_

A muffled sound coming from outside stops me dead in my tracks. Someone opens the left side of the confined place, letting sun inside momentarily. I narrow my eyes to get a glimpse, recognizing broad shoulders of a male. His dark red hoody shadows his expression, not enough to cover up his agitation, though. He complains, anger apparent in his voice, just as something slides over to where I am, "...Can't believe I forgot to leave the phone here like the boss said, they've been calling the whole fucking way."

I sigh and feel my tensed posture relax when the man is gone, the door locking with a solid click. A blue light shoots from nowhere, startling me badly. Squinting at the light, my eyes land on its source. Seeing how close it is to me, I quickly guess it is the phone that was tossed inside a moment ago. The rectangular phone looks more like a plate than a communication device and has a red Pokeball pattern in the middle, the beam coming from its button. It vibrates as a blue hologram displays an unknown number written above a straight line. Desperate but cautious, I crawl forward and, knowing that my hands are tied, I try to press my chin to the touch screen.

"Alev! Alev, do you hear me?" I hear the shriek as my head collapses to the surface beneath me, too exhausted to hold it in place. The following sentence is quieter compared to the first one as if the stranger has turned from the phone. "Hey! You told Norman that she'd be-"

"Dad?" I ask when I distinguish my father's name in this stranger's voice. I wait, counting breaths. Biting my trembling lips, I hardly sustain from sobbing.

"Alev? Child, are you OK? Are you safe?" It is still the stranger who is talking. Not hearing dad's voice again makes the dam break.

I'm still more or less aware that the man keeps talking, though I have no attention to spare for him.

"Alev! Alev, please listen to me. Tell me if you are OK? I just–"

"WHY IS SHE CRYING? You said she would be safe and sound!" I jerk at this new voice, familiar and masculine. He is yelling to be heard, and though he seems far from the phone, anger is dominant in the vibrations.

"–I'll help you. Your father is here with me, he wants to know if you are okay. Talk to me. I'm Professor Birch, your father's old friend. I'm calling with the phone because your father is restrained–I mean, unable to do so."

I've been shaking my head the whole time, not wanting to hear a word of what Birch is saying. Nothing makes sense. I want to be at home, my parents with me. I don't want to be tired. I don't want to be _crying_.

I'm dreaming, is that it? It would explain everything. It would explain why I hear the phone from a distance at this point, why I'm alone in this dark soulless place, why I'm not feeling damn okay!

I don't know how much time has passed as I sob, could be few minutes or an hour. I feel the headache resurface fiercely as my cries slow to small whimpers. As a result of my clogged nose, I'm breathing through my mouth and every time I swallow to let more air in, I can't help but notice that with salty tears, snot follows down my throat. Ugh. I hate crying. Sound alerts me that the man on the phone is still talking, and I focus with some effort.

"...and there is Mudkip, the water type starter. Your father told me that you love the sea and that the water type pokemon fascinates you. What do you say I give you Mudkip once this is all over and you are with us? Don't cry, child, just tell me that you are okay. That's all your father wants to hear. Alev, can you hear me?" Birch's soothing voice has turned frantic by the end and this time he yells, "It's not working, this is not calming her down, Norman! Oh, wait, it's silent now. Alev? Alev! Are you there?"

I scoff at his insistence but I realise that so far I've been nothing but useless. A groan reverberates in my chest as I force myself to sit upright. I pull my knees up to my stomach from where I'm lying face down. It hurts tremendously for my right ankle to do so, but once I feel my bum touching my heels, I take a deep breath and push myself up with my forehead. Because of the momentum, the back of my head hits to the wall, the furthest I could have gone, and I squirm since the crouching position is far from comfortable with the addition of my hands tied at my back.

"I'm-I'm…" My throat closes down on itself each time I try to get a word out, so I stop and take a deep breath before swallowing again. "I'm OK."

 _What a lie_ , I think the moment the words are past my lips.

"I'm at the back of a truck. I'm alone, but I'm fine," I say, this time my voice is louder even if it trembles.

"Oh, great Arceus! Norman, did you hear that!" I wince at that obnoxious tone. It reminds me painfully of a child's joy as he opens his presents. "Alev, child, you are safe now. You'll be home very soon, the one your family moved in just recently, in Littleroot Town. Your mother will be there, she's been asking you since forever-"

"-THAT IS ENOUGH. She is being delivered, and we have other businesses to discuss."

Birch falls silent for a moment because of a new commanding voice. A shiver goes down my spine. It sounds so familiar, yet I know it's not from someone I want to meet again.

"Your father and I will arrive shortly after, we hope. I'm eager to meet you, being your neighbour and all. Be patient and don't worry, we're all here for you!"

Birch's last statement is clearly rushed, and afterwards there is a struggle. I can hear yelps and cries of pain as punches land. There are pokemon cries as well, and I doubt they refrain from going into battle. I stare at the hologram, wishing it were a video call rather than just audio. The flickering blue light hurts my eyes, but I don't drop my gaze, wondering what's happening at the end of the line.

I'm left in the dark not soon after though, both literally and figuratively.

The last thing I hear is a crack, metal meeting the floor, then the number written on the hologram vanishes just before the light itself. _Birch dropped the phone_ , I guess. My eyes feel strained as the meager light lingering in the room helps me distinguish packed rectangular objects. Some of them move as if they are light compared to others, and the now moving truck is just fast enough to shift them. I concentrate on the sound they make in an attempt to forget my hurting limbs that ache because of the unusual sitting position I am forced to hold. A tingling sensation starts from my toes and creeps up my hips, and there is a sharp pain in my left outer thigh which I recognize as a cramp. As the discomfort urges me to change position, I wiggle, but being incapable of movement, I just lay back on the cold surface beneath me, whimpering in distress.

Finally, the truck comes to a stop. The doors open and this time, sun seeps into every nook and cranny, not leaving any place left for despair to hide. Perhaps that's why my heart skips a beat hopefully, praying I'll be out and safe just like Birch said.

Safe seems like such an unattainable concept to me at this moment, so foreign in my mind.

"Here we are!" That man with the hoody again. His voice is tired but his sigh is in content. He climbs to the back of the truck, walks to where I lay down, then grabs me by my waist and throws me over his shoulder. He doesn't carry me far. The moment we are out of the truck, he drops me onto the soft grass. Landing on the ground is nothing close to soft, though. He reaches down. I don't move and close my eyes, afraid of him, not knowing what he'd do, but guessing a fist is on the way. He doesn't strike me. He bends over, takes a hold of the rope tying my hands and after a few minutes of work, I feel the pressure on my wrists lighten.

The man doesn't say anything. He rises up and walks away. Within moments the engine of the truck starts, and I'm left there on the grass. A soft wind caresses my hair, the grass tickling my cheek and neck. Some time later, I dare to move my hands to have them free. The rope easily gives away. I bring my hands to the front but complaints of my stirring numb muscles are cast aside. Blood rushes until the tip of my fingers; clear from the daze, one of my hands feels ablaze. The searing skin begs for icy water, however I can only stare at my hands in horror. They are scraped, some parts bruised and skinned, but the injury which brings tears to my eyes is the one on my left palm. There is a bloodied "M" imprinted on it, I can see muscle tissue at places where the skin is burned away. I close my eyes, unable to endure the sight of it. I can't recall how I got the imprinting, but I remembering the horror. _It's burning! Feels hot. Hurts, hurts, hurts, oh Arceus-_

I put my hand in the grass, palm down, so that the slight coolness would ease the heat on my skin. No rain has touched the ground here, so the relief is not as much as I would wish.

My shoulders shake with sobs that tear through my body. This time, even though the last one was unintentional, I don't remain silent but cry out as much as my lungs let me. I fail to hear the call of my name. I fail to hear the rushing of footsteps. And I fail to take notice of the shadow that falls on me.

Delicate but firm arms snake around me, pulling me close. My head rests on soft breasts, and when I sniff I catch a whiff of a familiar parched onion smell accompanied by something so distinctly _her_ , it makes my heart ache. With a final cry I realize I'm home.

* * *

 **Hello,**

 **This story will be a novelization of Pokemon Emerald version. It is a nuzlocke challenge with Pokemon death, violance and sexual themes so it is rated M. Also for the sake of not being a replica of the game and other similar fan fictions, there will be additions to the game's plot so I'll be doing my best to surprise you. There will be OCs along with canon characters, and don't forget, since this story takes place in the game world, May will be nothing like her anime counterpart. Side note: May's name here is Alev, and it means 'flame' in Turkish.**

 **I had started this story with Curse of the Ninth, who is the author of a nuzlocke challenge novelization of Kanto Region named _Red_ (check it out, it is amazing!). He was my beta for the story when I'd first written ToH two years ago, however after my long hiatus we were unable to work together. I want to thank him for encouraging me when I went to him with the rough idea of the story two years ago, for being my beta back then and helping me the first time around, and most importantly, I want to thank him for being an amazing and enthusiastic reader!**

 **That being said, my new beta Lynnxrider and I decided that rewriting Tale of Her would be the wisest choice. Dear Lynnxrider kindly pointed out that two years had changed my writing style and she made me realize the shortcomings of the first version. I'm really blessed to have came across her while searching for a new beta, because I have no doubt she wishes to make this story shine to the best of our abilities. She helps me immensely to set the right tone to my writing, get the feelings across as well as laying out the plot elements. I thank her so much for accepting my beta request and tackling this story with great determination even at times when I lack. Be sure to check her own stories, one of my favorites being _Substitue Sould: Deliverance_ from FMA fandom!**

 **I think this is all for now. I hope you've enjoyed the chapter!**

 **~Ydream08**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.**

* * *

 **Tale of Her**

 _By Ydream08_

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

I don't know which I did first, bathe or sleep. Nevertheless, the water sliding over my tender skin, my mom gently rubbing it to rid me of the dirt and the steam enveloping me are still so vivid in my memory. At first I was so disoriented that I didn't notice just where I was until it was much too late, the frigid water striking my aching body and frightening me into lucidity. I screamed right then, before mom switched the water from cold to hot. If my crying could have convinced her, my head would not have been touched by any water–hot or cold–but she sweet talked me into it in such a motherly way that I had sorely missed, I found myself only shedding silent tears in resignation, which couldn't be differentiated from the running water.

Afterwards–or before–came my bed.

When all of my numerous aches and hurts had been mercifully soothed, I was finally tucked in. Mother hadn't done that to me since I was fourteen, roughly after I enrolled in high school, and the gentle reminder of my youth almost brought tears to my eyes. She pet my clean, light brown hair, identical to her own, and put a kiss on my forehead, pulling the blanket up to my chin. Once she was done with me, she slept on the floor next to my bed.

For a week, I loved this. It was the two of us. We would rise to have breakfast, sit together in a couch, cuddle, and mom would read me a book. The only thing I hated after the first day was sleeping, as it was never peaceful. My bed was soft and heavenly, the blankets more cloud than wool and its warmth always welcoming, but before I could sleep more than half an hour, I would jerk and wake up hyperventilating.

It's been a week since I came home. My chest burns with pain whenever I walk around in the house too much or make abrupt movements, reminding me of the awful state I arrived home with. That's why I'd rather lie down on the couch reading or doing nothing. The less I move, the less my breaths come short, giving me a luxurious comfort. The last two days however, I've been screaming myself awake at night and as a result I've been exhausted and cringy, no matter how much I snooze during the day. Nevertheless, I'm living in a haze most of the time, never quite remembering where I am, spacing out for long periods only to find my mother staring at me in concern. It is no surprise she prefers me taking a nap.

"Mom, where's Dad?" I inquire. Mom is seated across me at the other end of the long couch. Since I'm curled up, not even taking the place of a whole seat, she made herself comfortable there. She has her light brown hair up in a bun, wearing her usual plaid pink pajamas. She looks a right mess, but considering all she does is to read after breakfast, not leaving her house, it's understandable. She takes her time answering me, her tired blue eyes not lifting from the pages they wander on. Mom's been avoiding to answer that very same question ever since I came to my wits and realized that something was wrong with not having dad around. It's been a week, and I'm regaining my previous self rather quickly. My memories are missing, but the rest of mind is intact.

Or so I hope.

"He is on his way," my mother mumbles. I had interrupted her from reading the book _Sightseeing: First Time in Hoenn,_ and she goes back to it immediately, having an excuse to drop the subject. I let her. I don't know why.

Sometimes I think it's good to not know.

I don't know why my mother's eyes water whenever she bathes me, or why she gasps and apologises a million times when she turns on the TV at high volume and it startles me.

I don't know why my mother sobs, lying on the floor beside my bed while she thinks I'm asleep.

And I don't know why I stay awake at night and pretend to sleep without letting my mother know that I'm wide awake, or why I'm so disinterested in knowing the reasons for her actions.

"Wasn't Dad coming today?" I ask, and this time we are at dinner table. My mother's hands still while slicing meat. She doesn't raise her sapphire eyes to meet mine.

"He has sent you a present, for your birthday," she changes the subject. I doubt she realizes she isn't fooling me. I'm not even sure why she tries. "A clock. I didn't have time to put batteries in it, so it's still on your desk. Why don't you take a look at it when you are back in your room?"

I nod and eat my food. Silence again. Recently that and kisses are all I have to look forward to when I'm with mother. Well, that and her voice when she reads to me.

I thank her for the meal and go to my room. I take a look at the clock. It is pink, with a flower pattern, but broken. _It's not the only broken thing in the room,_ I think ruefully. With a sigh, I find batteries inside a drawer and start the clock. I set it to seven p.m. before changing into my pajamas and lying in my bed.

I stare at the ceiling, hardly able to sleep. I count the ticking of the clock, not once am I interrupted by the creaking of the door. Mom doesn't show up like she always does, her floor bed empty beside me.

There are two less broken things in the room tonight.

* * *

At the first light of dawn, I entertain my inner demons and rise from the bed like they've been nagging me to do so ever since I'd lied down. I head to the bathroom, closing the door. Going through my morning routine, I eventually raise my head after rinsing my face. My neck protests to lift the weight–no doubt my thoughts anchor it down–so securely clutching the sink, I let my head dangle for a few moments to ease the ache. Some mornings I wonder why I bother to wake up, since all I do is to lounge on the couch like I do in the bed. Some mornings I just wonder…

My hand clutching the side of the sink slips, and I realise I've spaced out, my blurry vision focusing back. I groan and quickly open the tap again to splash water on my face, forgetting that the feeling would do the opposite of soothing me. I scream and stagger a few steps back, my back hitting the cool wall. _I'm scared! Stop, please stop– I can't breathe! My throat burns, please…_

I throw my head backwards. Hitting the wall behind me, a sharp pain startles me back to the here and now. I drag myself back towards the sink, barely registering my movements. _I'm home aren't I? I'm safe?_ My stiff fingers fumble to grab a towel, swiping it from the counter to dry my damp skin. Picking up my fingerless white gloves from the counter, I put them on without delay. The quicker I conceal the imprinted scar, the better, because what my eyes can't see, my mind doesn't ponder.

I sigh in relief. Feeling my heart slowing down under the tight hold I have on my pajama top, I focus on the ghost of the burning on my chest. The faded pain reminds me that I'm healing, quickly at that. _I'll be fine, I'll be okay._

Falling back to my routine, my hands correct hair out of habit before exiting the bathroom. Though I instinctively look around, my gaze doesn't rest on the mirror I'm searching for. There used to be mirrors above all of the sinks in our old house. Mom must have changed her mind after I came and probably packed all the mirrors away in the basement so that I wouldn't avoid them. It's funny how I search even more for them now that they aren't out. Is mom scared that I'd break down if I saw my reflection? Hate myself? Scream till my lungs collapse? It's just me. Even my bruises are nearly gone! Why would she hide away the mirrors? Is there something wrong with me? Wrong enough to avoid? To hide?

Today it's been two weeks since I came home.

Dad has never stopped by. Mom more often than not leaves to buy groceries. She always locks the deadbolt when she goes away, telling me to never answer the door. I shrug at her antics. Why would anyone knock on our door? We are foreign to this new land, though I can't remember when we moved or why at the moment. Knowing my mother's neighbourly interactions, we aren't even familiar with the neighbours, let alone anyone else in town.

I have many books in my library, mostly science and math. There are a few novels, which I've already read since coming back home. Sleepless nights begged for reading at one point; it was the fourth day I suppose. Today, mom has gone out shopping, so I skim through a math book, solving a couple of interesting questions while I'm at it. The problems don't challenge me and I wonder from what year of high school this book is. I give up once the questions don't get any harder and I go autopilot solving them. This isn't fun. Perhaps I could read books? There are always trainer or pokemon guides I could re-read, I never get tired of them since they were the kind of books that made me love reading in the first place. I leave my room to wander around the house, stretching my legs before a long reading session again. Finding my dad's library, I read through the titles, taking two books which interested me. _Myths and Legends: The Origin of the World_ and _Joseph Stone: An Autobiography of Success_ are sitting in my lap half an hour later, the latter open while I read.

From what I understand, the autobiography is about an ingenious scientist in love with the sea. His youth was consumed by adventures on a ship, while his middle age was glorified with groundbreaking inventions from which his wealth comes from.

I'm reading an interesting passage of how Mr. Stone's heart forgot to beat under the scrutiny of a pair of pretty blue eyes, which were attached to a delicate young lady, when the key turns to the main door and mom enters the house. I raise my gaze to meet her. She is carrying too many packages, for her age anyway, but I know that she'll refuse my help like the last time so I don't budge a muscle as she rushes to the kitchen and puts away her purchases. I turn back to my book, realizing that mom won't be back for half an hour, but within five minutes I'm feeling gloomy. _Why would you spare only a single page for the love of your life?_ I roll my eyes. Reading Mr. Stone's accomplishments then on doesn't interest me as much, so I go through the remaining twenty pages–the guy spent two hundred pages on his adventures in the sea (the title is misleading in my opinion)–and at last close the book. Just when I'm about to start the second book I brought from my dad's library, mom walks in the living room carrying one last bag.

"Look what I've bought!" she chimes, sitting across me. Her hand dips into the bag and pulls out a wonderful green summer dress. "I know it's not your favorite colour, but I fell in love with it! You should wear before the weather gets cold!"

I don't say anything. It is not like I've been going out lately regardless of the summer lingering in the autumn air. I nod.

"Thank you," I say, then turn back to my book. Mom sighs despondently and takes the dress upstairs, probably to my room. When she comes down, I don't halt my reading so I notice from the corner of eyes that she gets comfortable in the sofa with the remote control in her hand. The loud voice and the cheering coming from the TV makes me jump in my seat. For the first time since I've come home, my mother doesn't notice my distress and shrieks in joy.

"Alev, honey, look, it's your Dad!" Her exclamation snaps my eyes away from the book to rest on the screen, however just as I look my dad's image freezes and reduces to a tiny rectangle above the reporter's right shoulder.

"…We brought you news from Petalburg City. Next in the news is from Rustboro City. A thief was caught late at night yesterday and police fear the criminal might be…"

I can't remove my eyes even though the unrelated news carries on. _That answers my questions on my dad's whereabouts_ , I think as my heart constricts, loneliness making itself felt again. I slowly turn to my mother. She is cupping one cheek with her right hand, her left hand supporting that elbow. She sighs and that sound, I believe, hints at an exhaustion that rivals my own.

I drop my gaze, somehow unable to meet mom's and knowing that the next thing she will do is to turn to me.

"I nearly forgot!" she blurts out. "On my way back home, I ran into Angela Birch, our neighbour. She invited us over for dinner."

Since I keep my eyes on the book, not really able to read but still with most of my concentration on the words, mother stops for a moment to let the information sink in. Like I said, _most_ of my concentration.

"What do you say we get ready and go? You can wear that new dress I bought you."

 _So that's what the dress is about._ I gather my books and hug them to my chest. After giving mom a court nod, I resignedly go upstairs to put away the books and get ready. It's easy to slip in the light green dress. It cups my breast tightly, then flows freely down to the floor. There is a darker green ribbon gripping my waist as a last touch to the dress. I wear the cardigan my mom left on the bed, masterfully hiding the fainted bruises on my arms. With slight reluctance I decide to remove my gloves, putting them in my small bag just in case. I figure hiding bare hands–my left palm to be exact–would be easier to manage than raising suspicion with gloves that certainly don't match with the dress. I brush my hair, letting the slight wavy locks free to just scrape my bare shoulders. Getting dressed up in such a way usually calls for makeup, but I end up with lip gloss I find in my pencil case from my old school bag. I put it on my lips without the aid of a mirror–Arceus knows how that turns out–and without having the chance to check my reflection I descend the stairs to find my mom waiting for me at the door. She is wearing khaki pants and a white blouse, simple but elegant. Once I come into the open, she wipes her teary eyes and I feel grateful in her stead that she is not wearing any mascara either.

We walk to Birch's house. The town is small but the houses are spread apart with wide yards. It takes us ten minutes to reach their door and our knock is quickly answered. A woman with wheat blond hair and bright blue eyes steps into the doorway.

"Ah, Edith! You've come just in time, I'm finished cooking mere seconds ago!"

Angela Birch welcomes us in. She chats with mom for a while but I don't miss her eyes darting my way once or twice. Feeling her gaze on me, I secure my hands in the pockets of my cardigan and smile faintly at her whenever her eyes search for mine. At first she looks at me with a touch of worry, but the more she glances at me, the more I see her smiling. At one point she finally addresses me.

"Alev, wasn't it? My son is upstairs. I called for him before the two of you even arrived so Arceus knows why he hasn't yet come down. Do you mind calling for him? He's about your age. His room is upstairs, the second to the left."

Reluctantly, I lift myself from my seat. Whether that was a sincere request or Mrs. Birch's way of asking to leave the two older woman alone, I don't know. I walk to the stairs and reach to the second door on the left like Mrs. Birch described and knock halfheartedly, waiting to hear an answer. When none comes, I take a hold of the handle.

"Sorry for the intrusion," I call as I step in. The room is empty though. I walk to the middle, taking in the simple furnishings: a bed, a desk, a computer and a nightstand. The sheets and curtains are mainly green in colour while the paint is an off white, there is a frame on the wall containing a view of forest with pokemon of different species. Getting a closer look, I note that it is a puzzle. If I have to guess, one thousand pieces at least. I humm with admiration, that much green in a puzzle must have required decadent patience. My eyes shift from the frame to the desk. I walk towards it and see a notebook wide open, but noticing that it has entries with dates, I dart away. Accidently or not, taking a peek into a diary is rude. When I step away, my heel hits something that makes a rolling sound across the hardwood floor. I turn around and I take in the sight of a rolling pokeball just before it vanishes under the bed.

Looking under the bed, my eyes land on the pokeball not so far away. I lie down on the floor, face down, and reach with my left hand without thinking. When the cold metal meets my palm, I feel relief like no other. The pokeball fits perfectly in my palm and it doesn't take me long to realize what the cool metal soothes with its chill. The imprint.

I don't move for a time, simply lying on the floor and reveling in the cool sensation, but a sound in the hall causes me to come to my senses, and I sit upright. Just as I do so, the door swings open and a boy walks in, scaring the shit out of me.

I scream shrilly and the pokeball drops out of my hand, landing with a hard thunk on the floor. For a second there, I'm distracted as I expect to see a pokemon come out, but the silent minute that follows doesn't grant me that. I can't deny I'm a bit disappointed.

"Who are you?" The neighbour's kid looks around my age, alright. Perhaps it's because I'm crouching, but I can't help but feel he is a bit taller than me. His raven hair is dishevelled as if he's just woken up, but the shiny touch to it reminds me of hair gel rather than morning shower dampness, so all I can say is that his hours spent in front of the mirror were in vain.

"Ah, I-I'm Alev Kaya. The neighbour. Your mother was kind enough to have invited us over for dinner," I say, _never_ forgetting my manners and being a guest in the house requires me to act in the appropriate way. I add the last part with a roll of my eyes, "She also asked me to look for you." Arceus knows I couldn't hate every second I spent here even more.

"Is that where you are looking for me? Under my bed?" He smirks as I blush. It feels like ages since I last blushed, but I quickly forget the feeling because the arrogant smile on his face widens, causing my blood to boil. How dare he?! It could be his room–it _is_ his room that I let myself in uninvited, after all–but damnit, I don't like the way he masterfully pushes my buttons without even knowing me.

At this point, I'm aware using the pokeball as an excuse in the conversation would be a wrong move, if not highly embarrassing (I don't want to hear him say any version of, "Were you searching for my _pokeballs_?"). If I'm judging the dancing light in his hazel eyes correctly, he is hardly refraining from making a crude comment about my proximity to his bed. With an annoyed twitch of my eye, I decide I won't give him any more opportunities for an innuendo. High school had been full of those, so no, thank you very much.

"Sorry, I tripped," I say with a sugary smile which screams that I'm lying but is sweet enough that it prevents him from commenting. "Now that I've found you, why don't you come down for dinner?"

He nods mockingly. "Yes, yes, of course."

I try to walk out the door dismissively, but he blocks my way. _Fuck._ I can still shove him away–

"–But first, I should introduce myself. After you've gifted me with your name, it would be _rude_ of me to do otherwise."

He offers a condescending hand.

"I'm Brendan, Brendan Birch."

I furiously stare at his face before even attempting to shake his hand. I eventually do so hastily with my right hand, but his grip is too firm for me to slip out of.

"Say, Alev, I heard you are the gym leader's daughter. You must be a trainer, right?" I stay silent long enough to convey the answer 'no', but he ignores the obvious hint, seeming all too eager to fill the silence with the sound of his own voice. "Well, _I've_ been a trainer for quite some time now, at least more than I suppose you have, but I've been helping my dad with his research most of the time. Do you have your Pokemon? Want to battle?"

I shake my head no this time so he can't ignore me, an annoyed frown pulling at my lips. He sighs in utter disappointment. I think he was just putting up with me for that one question: _Want to battle?_

"Shame," he whispers. The light in his eyes I saw previously dies out along with his curiosity of me. "Do you want me to catch a Pokemon for you?"

That's it. I won't accept such a half-assed offer and I'm not going to put up him with anymore!

"Thanks for the thought, but let's leave it at that," I say, gritting my teeth. He isn't aware he is fortuitous enough to be so near to unleash my wrath. A dusty wrath I had long forgotten that resided within me.

He shrugs, as if my answer hardly matters to him at this point. "I promised I'd help out Dad anyway, he said there was a bit work left to do in Route 103. I better go straight to him after dinner..." He leans away from the door, his meaning crystal clear.

I nod and walk out the door without looking back to see whether he follows.

The dinner passes by uneventfully. I am more than grateful when my head hits the pillow with the knowledge that Brendan Birch is as far away from me as possible. Perhaps he could stay on that Route 103 forever? I dismiss even the thought of him, _the arrogant prat doesn't deserve me thinking about him before I sleep_. I feel myself blushing, horrified how that last thought came out or what it made me imagine.

I bury my face to the pillow, and the muffled shriek I let out reminds me how alive I've been today unlike the past two weeks. I feel better. I'm annoyed to the grave but I feel like myself. I drift off to sleep, still thinking that nostalgic thought: myself.

 _Not as nostalgic anymore._

* * *

 **Hi,**

 **I hope you've enjoyed the chapter! I'll let you know if you haven't checked out my profile that I'm trying my best to fall into a routine for writing this story however currently the best update frequency seems to be once a month.**

 **Side note: I'll be answering guest reviews through the A/Ns so feel free to leave one with a distinct name.**

 **That being said...**

 **Nibs: Thank you for your kind words! I'm overjoyed and proud to know that you enjoyed the previous chapter regardless of being new to the fandom, to nuzlocke challenges and novelizations. I'm confident that I won't be disappointing you with my sub-plots but surprising you will be the ultimate goal :D We'll see how much that dark side of my mind will stand to the sucker part which craves for happy endings. Alas, the road till the end is a damn long one ;D Again, thank you for you review!**

 **-Ydream08**


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